Funeral Verdant
by Feather Ice
Summary: There is more to death than the ending. Merlin, the greatest wizard in Albion, chose to make something new from that which fire and war took away. His gift found the heart of another as it slept through time. Canon!verse


**Warnings:** Difficult to follow at times... But I SWEAR this whole thing can be taken as canon! Yes, even with the ending that made us all bawl our eyes out. No slash here, unless you're into that. Angst by the boatload. Some foul language (c'mon guys, I wrote this...)

**Funeral Verdant**

0o0o0

In his life, Merlin had mustered up the courage to ask Hunith about his father only twice. The first time he'd taken one look at the pain in her eyes and sworn not to repeat the same mistake. The second time was because it was important.

"Mum?" He looked away from his task—he was trying to convince the table leg that it would like to pretend not to be rotten and stay put a while longer (admittedly, without tools or nails). Hunith was sewing. She looked down to where he was stretched on the floor, hands sending threads of light into the wood. "Did Dad have to go away because of me? Because of what I am?"

He'd flinched at the pain he'd seen in her, and felt even worse. Merlin had been fighting the tight, twisting feeling in his stomach for days, seeking the courage to ask, unable to keep a bite of food down. Now he wished he could tow the words back into his mouth. "Never mind, sorry—" he started to babble, jerking his eyes to his fingers just before his mother's arms wrapped around him.

"Never think that," she'd told him firmly. "Never, my boy."

Merlin had wanted to ask why his father had gone away then, but he didn't dare risk it. He leaned into his mother's arms and enjoyed the warmth.

And then three years later, Will had died.

0o0o0

"I ask a day's leave," Merlin said to Arthur, hoarsely. The farther they had gone from his mother's watchful eye, the more he'd felt himself coming undone.

Arthur was angry—Will was a sorcerer. _Of course_. Merlin could feel Arthur glaring at him for daring to sympathize, but he didn't meet the gaze. He didn't want the conversation. He didn't want to have to lie or admit half-truths about things that no one could make sense of. Whatever Arthur might say about Will was guaranteed to hit too close to home.

"Please," Merlin said. He was expecting Arthur to refuse, so this was just the advance explanation for why he was going to be showing up to work pale and drawn and generally avoiding the hell out of everyone. Merlin had been allowed time to mourn in Ealdor. Of course. Where he didn't dare let his mother see.

"Granted," Arthur said, and Merlin looked up so fast that Arthur stiffened a bit. His eyes narrowed immediately afterward. "Have something to say?"

"No, Sire; thank you, Sire." Merlin started to back out of the room before Arthur could change his mind. "I'll… be seeing you."

He made it to the door before Arthur's voice called his name again. Merlin paused, glancing back even though his expression couldn't be anything remotely dignified. It felt like Arthur's glare was cutting him to the bone. "When you come back," Arthur said shortly, "I expect you to be in top form."

_Forget the sorcerer, or don't come back at all._

Merlin bowed. "Sire."

0o0o0

He got drunk. This hadn't really been the plan and neither he nor Will had been much for drinking (which was at least half the basis for their friendship in a town where all the men turned to drink for their entertainment; the other basis came from the fact that Will liked trouble any way it came and Merlin attracted it in mobs), but there he was. The funeral pyre and the body was gone, but not the spirit, it seemed. It was hanging around.

Merlin took another sip of wine, and the warmth made him brave.

The tree that grew out of the earth under his gaze smelled faintly of ash and smoke.

There was something about the knots in the bark that reminded Merlin of Will's quick, sharp smiles.

He'd saved the bolt that had killed his friend, the one meant to pierce his destiny through the heart. He reached out now, the newborn bark and wood parting like a curtain to let him bury the arrow in the heart of the tree.

He poured the rest of the wine to its roots.

_Last drink, dear friend._

"Never again," Merlin swore aloud. "I will not lose someone like this again."

0o0o0

When Freya died and Merlin had to pretend that nothing had happened, that was the hardest. He was surprised at Arthur's reaction to the whole thing—Merlin knew he was acting off, but he hadn't expected Arthur to care unless it was something obviously life-threatening. Or loud.

But Arthur stayed near him, hovering for _weeks. _Oh alright, perhaps not quite hovering, but always present. Always there in case Merlin wanted to talk. In case Merlin had a nervous breakdown. In case Merlin cried again, so Arthur could mock him for it.

He kept Merlin busy, which Merlin was grateful for. He didn't want to have to think.

And even though he could produce a never-ending list of chores at will, Arthur didn't hesitate to give Merlin the afternoon off when he asked for it.

"I hope that you're…" He trailed off, shrugging uncomfortably. "You know."

Merlin smiled tiredly. "Yeah. We're fine."

Arthur immediately denied that he'd meant anything of the sort, glared, and looked so immensely relieved that Merlin's smile turned a bit real around the edges. "What's the matter with you, then?" Arthur had asked, trying to sound nonchalant and failing miserably.

Merlin had hesitated for a moment and then shook his head. "Don't worry. I'll be back to normal tomorrow."

Arthur informed him that scheduling foul moods made him sound like more of a girl than ever and Merlin rolled his eyes, heading out to enjoy his night off. Once again, though, Arthur stopped him before he escaped entirely.

"One day, you will explain this to me."

Merlin turned back to gawk in surprise, because that was the last thing in the world he expected. Well, not the demand that Arthur be privy to Merlin's private life (princes were dreadfully nosy); that was normal. But the idea that Arthur was willing to wait for the answer. The idea that Arthur was even capable of caring about the answer for that long. Let alone **admitting** to it. That was downright alarming.

Arthur gave him a cool, challenging look in return that made Merlin realize that this was one of those speeches Arthur rehearsed in his head. Like when he had to publicly disagree with Uther.

He was truly worried. Had been brooding and Merlin hadn't even noticed.

Merlin swallowed around the dryness in his throat and nodded. "One day I will tell you everything, Sire."

And then he'd escaped as Arthur's brow had furrowed with that conundrum.

He'd had no choice but to reward honesty with honesty.

0o0o0

Freya's tree was long and lovely, nearly as slender as she had been, with smooth, silvery bark. The leaves made the softest sound, like her voice when she was smiling. It smelled a bit like stolen breakfast sausages—and a little bit like strawberries—and Merlin placed into its heart a scrap of cloth torn from her raggedy dress. He leaned against the tree trunk and sipped mead until the leaves overhead whirled.

And for the first time in the weeks since he'd burned Freya on the lake, Merlin let himself cry. This time there was no need to cut it short. He wept until his eyes burned and the dawn of the next day was bruising the night sky.

Before he left, the rest of the mead went to her roots.

_Drink well and take my peaceful sleep._

Arthur wasn't exactly happy when his manservant showed up with swollen red eyes and an unmistakably tipsy stagger. He suggested that they practice with swords today, presumably just to see the color drain out of Merlin's face.

"Never mind," he declared, looking self-satisfied. "I prefer not to be vomited upon. Breakfast?"

"Can I go back to Gaius's and die quietly?" Merlin asked unhappily.

Arthur snorted and dropped an arm around his shoulders, steadying Merlin before he could clock himself on the dressing screen. "I'll walk you back."

He did. He also promised to save up all Merlin's chores for when he was feeling better.

Merlin managed a grin and Arthur sped out of the room before his nice could show any further.

0o0o0

There were days of feasting and celebration throughout Camelot after the defeat of the Great Dragon. Merlin found himself sucked up into them not entirely unwillingly—he had his own victory to celebrate, after all—but he wasn't himself for the parties.

He stopped being himself _entirely_ when the parties ended. That was when the nobles retired to sleep off impressive hangovers while equally miserable servants cleaned up their messes.

Arthur was, naturally, a royal pain when hungover. He seemed to expect Merlin to comfort him over his poor mead-drinking decisions and was constantly demanding Merlin's presence. And his attention. And then glasses of water or a bit of bread or, most notably, a story read aloud to him. He'd cracked an eye open for that one and fixed Merlin with a grimace. "You are literate, aren't you, Merlin?"

Of course Merlin was literate! "No, Sire," Merlin said at once, having no desire to read bedtime stories to Prince Arthur no matter how fond he had grown of the man.

"Then go home and rest," Arthur commanded, very obviously trying to sound more pompous than he came across. "You look like a nightmare." Merlin blinked realizing that once again, without his fully realizing it, Arthur had been worrying about him. Which explained the clinginess (if not the desire for Storytime).

"Were you worrying about me?" Merlin asked, thinking he could poke fun at Arthur's expense. That... wasn't how it came out.

"No," Arthur snapped, going for scoffing. That wasn't how it came out either.

They eyed each other askance for a moment. Arthur ultimately sighed, kneading at his eyes with his fists. "You know, Merlin," he remarked with wry flatness, "I distinctly remember that at one point, you promised to tell me what it is that you're always moping about."

Merlin hadn't forgotten for a second, but he had very much been under the impression that Arthur had. There was no harm in playing dumb, of course. He raised his eyebrows a bit. "I have no idea what you're talking about—Are you thirsty, Sire? Water? Or would juice do—"

Arthur snorted unattractively. "Do you want the day off or the afternoon off?"

"Day," Merlin said after a moment.

"Granted." Arthur waved a hand. "Now get out before I change my mind."

Merlin hesitated, thinking for a moment that maybe it wouldn't be so bad to explain everything. But no—Merlin didn't really want to tell Arthur anything anymore. Circumstances had changed. Merlin had come to value Arthur's friendship a lot more than Arthur's respect.

Hell if those were going to be mutually exclusive forever, though.

"One day," Merlin whispered, and slipped through the door.

He didn't look back because he knew that Arthur heard him.

0o0o0

He placed the wooden dragon inside of Balinor's tree. It was sturdy, wood so dark it was almost black, and it smelled like the cave Merlin had found his father in. Damp, moldy, and sort of like a home. Merlin leaned into it, feeling like he was inside warm arms.

He hadn't wanted to give up the dragon, but it had been right. It was meant for the tree and equally, if Merlin kept looking at the lovely thing every morning, he'd be fighting tears until the end of time.

He'd sent word to his mother. She'd cry, he knew, but Merlin had realized that crying wasn't such a bad thing. Not knowing was far worse.

He sank to the roots of Balinor's tree. For his father, he had mead again. He sipped instead of guzzling. He had all day.

He started to talk.

By the time the sun had gone down, Merlin had told the forest everything there was to know, emptied his head completely of Camelot and Ealdor, of magic and monsters, of Arthur and Gaius. Everything he thought he'd have the time to share with his father, he shared now, unhurried and with only a pause or two to wet his lips with alcohol. It was all very peaceful, and he didn't think he'd need to cry at all until the very end.

"If Arthur and I hadn't come, you'd still be alive," he croaked, feeling heat welling up in his eyes. "And if it wasn't me, you'd have never… You'd be alive. If I hadn't gone. If Arthur and I had never met."

And not the thought of not ever meeting Arthur Pendragon, of never having had things thrown at him, of never trading insults, of never suffering through sword practice or serving or idiotic uniforms—it was unthinkable. Merlin wondered if maybe he'd known when he went to find his father what would happen. What always happened.

_Because it was me._

_ Will took the arrow and the blame for me._

_ Freya's wound was dealt because I had to protect him._

_ And my father died protecting me._

_ …I exist for Arthur._

Merlin looked around the forest of his sacrifices and his shoulders shook twice before he bowed his head and the tears began to fall.

There was hardly any mead left to leave at the roots, but Merlin's tears were probably wet enough.

_Father, please forgive me._

0o0o0

There were others.

Serving girls lost in city sieges, city louts who vanished in the night to monsters, guards who fell in the line of duty. Friends. People Merlin had laughed with and teased, people he'd shared smiles with. A few that he'd shared a kiss or two with. Some that he shared small adventures with as well—things that Arthur and Gaius didn't know about, but that had happened and were kept in his heart all the same.

The trees were becoming a forest in their own right, the trees of mourning that sprouted up for these lost people. Merlin came periodically, adding to their numbers or respecting those who had already gone. He no longer broke over their deaths. The sacrifice of his father had cured him of that. There weren't tears and there weren't days off. It was all very quietly, methodically done.

And then Lancelot was lost.

Merlin gave him two trees; one for the death of Lancelot the brave and true, and one for laying him to rest after his shade was destroyed. One had at its heart a bit of firewood Merlin had been carrying just in case something went awry. The other had at its heart a bracelet left in Gwen's cell. The work of magic and Morgana, nothing to do with Lancelot at all, really, but Merlin put it there for forgiveness.

_Rest. It will be well. This will do no further harm._

The trees sighed around him, beautiful and sad.

After the Dorocha, Arthur had just waved him off because Arthur had wanted to mourn himself. After the shade, it was a bit more difficult.

"Take me with you," Arthur had said, looking up at Merlin with a tight jaw and eyes just a touch too glassy. "I want to know what you do."

Merlin stared back gravely, giving nothing away. "What I do, Sire?"

"Cry for them. Mourn for them. _Something_." Arthur stood, stalking towards him. "It works for you, and then you return the next day—and you're as normal. I **need** to be as normal, Merlin." His eyes were on fire close up, with pain and grief that Merlin understood very well indeed. "That's an order."

For some reason, Merlin's mouth had decided that now of all times was the ideal moment for insubordination. "You cannot order the truth from me, Sire," he'd said. Of ALL THE TIMES. Arthur didn't look terribly sane anymore, let alone forgiving. Merlin half expected his eyes to turn gold and blast Merlin across the room out of rage alone.

"I am King," Arthur hissed. "I can have you banished if you disobey."

Merlin looked at the rage, and the agony underneath it, and before Arthur had a chance to react, he'd wrapped his arms around him. "I'll never leave you," Merlin told him as gently as he could. "You can order me all you like, but I won't go."

Arthur's voice was low and dangerous. "Let go of me."

Merlin let go and stepped back, head jerking back with the force of the blow Arthur dealt him. He glanced up and Arthur was looking at him like the only thing he wanted in the world was for Merlin to strike him back. Like he regretted this to his bones.

Merlin figured that was sufficient guilt to go for another hug. So he did.

"Sire," he muttered against Arthur's very rigid shoulder. "You don't need any company to cry. In fact, it's probably a bit easier without it. And tears and a good night's rest are all the medicine you need."

"You always come back reeking of mead," Arthur grumbled, nevertheless allowing Merlin to push him back towards his bed.

"Better than how you smell right now," Merlin pointed out. "Trust me."

Arthur grumbled some more and grabbed Merlin's hand as he turned to go. The grip was tight enough to bruise, and had nothing malicious in it. Nothing at all. And Arthur always had at least a little malicious in him.

Merlin squeezed his hand back. "I will come back," he told Arthur. "Because I'm not leaving you." Arthur's expression said that he plainly didn't believe Merlin. Merlin huffed with exasperation. "Leaving and apart are not the same thing, Arthur."

Interestingly, it was Arthur's name that seemed to make him relax. One minute the king had a vice grip on Merlin's hand and the next that hand had slithered back under the covers. "So now I know," he muttered. "What it is that you always do. And why." He frowned at Merlin. "Who else was it?"

Merlin suppressed a smile. "Will," he told him. "And some people you don't know."

"And you just cry?" Arthur asked.

"I'll explain later," Merlin said, not quite ready to acknowledge that later was a lot closer than one day.

Arthur's eyes had seemed to shine for just a second, in spite of the misery.

0o0o0

Merlin told his theory to Gaius first. "Everyone I care for dies before me."

Gaius returned his gaze steadily. "You're young."

"Some of them were too."

"It was to protect you."

Merlin smiled faintly. "I know."

He went to the trees that night, just for a while. And then he called on Kilgharrah.

0o0o0

Kilgharrah hadn't liked being asked. He'd tried to dodge the question. He'd tried for a cryptic answer. He'd tried to change the subject.

They really knew each other too well for that at this point, though.

"Yes, young warlock," the dragon finally said, bowing its head. "He too meets his end before yours."

"When?" Merlin asked. Kilgharrah's eyes flashed.

"I only read fate. I do not speak for it."

0o0o0

Some things cannot change. They die by funeral pyre, by storm and sea.

Other things grow slowly, and just when you think that you've lost them for good, you find their roots in unexpected places.

Perhaps tonight you will dream of swaying leaves, verdure greener than sorrow.

0o0o0

Arthur seemed pretty suspicious about the hunting trip that Merlin suggested. Probably because it was a hunting trip. And Merlin had suggested it. The entire palace was appraised of Merlin's infamous dislike of hunting.

"Are you planning to kill me and stash my body?" Arthur asked brightly as he tugged on his boots. "Because I assure you, I will be missed. And I think this is an overreaction. I only shoved you down the stairs the once."

From the chair where she was finishing off the last of Camelot's legal texts, Gwen gave Arthur's arm a reproving slap. Arthur kissed her cheek by way of counter point.

"No," Merlin deadpanned. "This is about me celebrating a newfound love of murdering local wildlife."

Arthur raised his eyebrows. "Was that meant to be funny, Merlin?"

Merlin just scowled.

0o0o0

Arthur wasn't really as thick as Merlin sometimes thought he was. The first thing he asked when Merlin led them to the trees was, "Which one is my father's?" The alarm must have been written on Merlin's face because Arthur rolled his eyes. "A feeling. Aren't I allowed to have those too, Merlin?"

"No, but really. How?" Merlin finally breathed, when he was done being annoyed.

"I followed you," Arthur said blandly, as though this was the most normal thing in the world, and strode forward into the grove. "Now. Where's my father's?"

0o0o0

Arthur seemed to be more annoyed by Merlin's lack of interest in mourning the man who wanted to butcher all of his kind than Merlin practicing things that should have ended with him _being_ butchered. Merlin had almost talked himself into believing that Arthur somehow had managed to miss a tree rising out of the ground and Merlin sticking his arm inside solid wood up to his elbow when Arthur demanded that he create Uther a tree right now.

So that theory had just crashed and burned.

"I don't think your father would appreciate a magical eulogy," Merlin finally said. Arthur frowned, considering the truth of this.

He then asked, "Why now?"

Merlin looked up to the canopy of life he'd worked out of bitter death.

"Because," he said quietly, "I outlive you in the end. And I can't be so certain that I will continue to have a tomorrow to tell you the truth.

"I don't want your forgiveness or your respect. I don't even want to keep my promise. I only wanted you to know that when I grow a tree for you, that too is where I will find my eternal rest."

Arthur looked skeptical. He looked around slowly. "It's beautiful," he said quietly. "I've wanted to tell you that for years. It's a beautiful thing you've done."

Merlin, for the life of him, felt more proud of that than anything else. "Yes."

Arthur looked back at him and said quite calmly, "Fuck destiny." Merlin's jaw dropped as he continued, "We fall together, Merlin, or not at all."

"You should stop taking blows to the head then," Merlin snapped.

"And you should stop getting thrown into walls," Arthur retorted.

They glared.

And then suddenly they were laughing and somehow Merlin had gotten into Arthur's arms and he was pretty sure he hadn't make the first move this time and it was so much warmer with living flesh, and so much gentler without the cut of bark.

For once Arthur didn't make fun of him for crying.

"I will not leave you," Arthur said, and Merlin was holding him to that.

0o0o0

Beneath the surface of a lake, deeper than the eye could follow, a small, pale hand was stroking through a boy's hair. Here peace had washed the blood and burdens out with the tide. Here he was young again, his hair soft against her hand, made gentle with forgotten innocence.

"It is not yet time," she whispered into his ear. "Rest now. You must wait a while yet before Albion will welcome you home. Before you are strong enough. "

From the doorway her sister watched. "He dreams," she remarked softly, eying the prince's restless features.

The other looked up, smiling. "It is more than a dream." She pointed up, to where fractured moonlight rode the waves down to the lake floor, crystallizing once more. It drew pale, flickering dragons above the child's bed.

"Above, another dreams. And in their dreams, they are together."

_In their dreams, they decide the future._

0o0o0

**A/N**: Okaaaay. Yeah. I should explain.

When I first wrote this, it was because I was frustrated with how so many people died in this show and weren't being properly mourned. Seriously! Merlin always looked so heartbroken in the actual episodes, and then the scripts didn't bring it up again and it was, you know, **dismaying**. So I wrote this to say goodbye to them and never posted it because, let's face it, I'm terribly lazy. And it IS slightly crap.

A while later, when I saw the season finale to Merlin, I wanted to do something to say goodbye (who didn't?) That ending was like being stabbed to death with a straw, I swear; I felt like crying for a week. Unfortunately, I wasn't able to express anything besides needless redundancy. I found this again on accident. With some editing, it stood a chance of having some meaning.

I think it's my best shot at saying goodbye to this show. This is my funeral for it, bizarre as that may sound, as well as for the characters we lost in it (even ones I didn't get to say farewell to here, like Gwaine and Morgana). I seriously _loved_ watching this, I hate that its over, and I love the writing that has grown from it (that I hope will continue to grow from it, without end). This story isn't much, but it's the best I can do to say thank you and farewell. I hope that some of you find it a little comforting; it was a comfort to write.


End file.
